Her Voice
by Pensez-a-Erik
Summary: Her voice was so entrancing... it threatened to pull you in, to wrap it around you with its silk and drown you in its pleasantness. No wonder she had fallen in love. (Rewrite but Raoul and Erik are women.)


**I want to thank** ** _Just a Lesbian_** **for helping me with some corrections.**

 **I wrote this mainly to satisfy my own poor lesbian heart. (In case there's confusion- Meg is in place of Raoul. I was too lazy to think up another name.)**

 **That said, please read!**

* * *

Christine had always been conditioned to love a boy. A man.

Her papa had smoothed back her unruly hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Min älskling, someday you will find yourself a fine husband, I swear it on my heart."

And then as the sound of his voice faded as the years flew by- she found herself doubting. Christine Daae would never find a husband. Weirdly enough, it did not bother her all that much.

Especially when the voice of an angel echoed through her dressing room mirror, mesmerizing and beautiful. Melodious and entrancing. An Angel promised to teach Christine Daae, and so her attentions were all directed to the Opera and her own voice.

Then arrived the night of her debut in Hannibal. It was, in all honesty, the best night of her life. All of her hard work and sweat and tears poured into every lyric of every aria, and fire raced through her veins. The power that surged through her upon that stage was euphoric, and Christine realized instantly that _this_ was what she had wanted all along.

Then the surprises that evening held increased even more, with a familiar face.

"Marguerite!" she had gasped, turning in her chair to face her slightly-shy friend.

Suddenly, the idea of a husband seemed much farther away as Christine met Marguerite's gaze.

Much, much farther.

The two had met as young girls on the beach of Perros-Guirec. It had been the cause of many fond memories, playing alongside the shores in the morning and spending late nights with Christine's Papa, listening to his violin.

It had been with much reluctance when the summer ended and Marguerite and her family moved.

"I go by Meg, now," the other woman grinned.

The reunion wore on with some anxiety, however. Meg insisted she bring Christine to dinner, but she was forced to decline. She _had_ to- what of her Angel?

Relief flooded her features as he closed the door, and then froze as all the candles doused out at once.

The voice of her Angel, unsteady and angry, boomed throughout the small dressing room.

" **Who** _ **was**_ **that?"**

"Angel!" she gasped. "I-it was simply an old friend. We were rather close when we were children."

"Do you wish to forego your vocal training?" Her Angel hissed.

"No! I want nothing more than for you to continue teaching me."

There was no immediate response.

...

That night- that peculiar, peculiar night- ended in the best and worst way possible. Christine's eyes widened as she took in the sight of her Angel in the now-open mirror, slicked back hair and clean pressed suit and wide, darker than wine cloak.

The glove was soft as Christine grabbed onto the small, skinny hand of the voice that had taught her for so long. And as she looked into those eyes, she realized she had been deceived all along.

For it was not an angel teaching her… but a woman.

A very broken woman, at that.

The white mask on the right side of her face revealed her to be the Phantom, and Christine realized the deceit had been led a step further- but she felt little anger.

Only an odd sense of relief, with a douse of surprise.

Christine spent that night in the fifth cellar of the opera, gazing at home _she_ had created all by herself, singing with her golden voice that seemed to wrap around Christine and lift her up high into the air, filling her with an odd pressure that restricted speech.

Not only that, she learned a name.

"Erika," _she_ said. "My name was- is- Erika."

Then she was shown to the mirror- the only mirror in the entire lair.

Except it was not a mirror, but a mannequin. Of her.

Christine Daae in a wedding dress, arms spread and palms upwards, pleadingly.

She grew dizzy as her gaze shifted to the woman beside her, amber eyes still unwavering with her pride, her presence confident and sure.

Everything went black for what seemed like only a breath, but she awoke in a bed, covered in a lone sheet.

She lifted her head to seek out Erika, and it took a few moments as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, but she spotted her. She sat at the organ, her attention focused completely on music sheets set before her. Entirely entranced in her work, she did not notice Christine as she crept up until it was too late.

…

In the end Christine wondered how things might have gone had she not ripped away the mask that first night. How the evening might have unfolded had she not been reduced to being shocked on the floor, slowly pushing herself away from the mess that was Erika's face. If Erika had not reacted the way she had, screaming and, in the end, sobbing before her.

It had been a harsh, eye-opening experience, and a part of Christine would regret her actions for years to come.

But not she lay, on the ground, tears running freely down her face as she gazed up at the woman who had lifted her from her grief and given life to her voice. The woman that had led her down through that catacombs on that night that now seemed so very long ago. The same woman that had abducted her following Don Juan, who had wrapped a red noose tight around Meg's neck and set a painful ultimatum.

Two choices, she had been given. One, or the other. But as Christine stared up into the eyes of Erika... she saw the third option.

To break away from the chains entirely.

Christine slowly pushed herself off the stone floor, rising to Erika's level. She was only slightly shorter than the Phantom, with her nose reaching _her_ chin.

A pregnant silence hung in the air as their eyes met, a silent staring contest that went on for a few beats before Christine broke it, and closed her eyes.

And leaned forward, standing on her tip-toes. She pressed her lips to Erika's, her hands cupping the other's face, both the mangled and the perfect, un-flawed side. The Phantom was stock-still against her, eyes wide with shock as Christine pulled away slightly to envelope Erika in a hug.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay."

She tilted her head up once more and kissed again, but this time Erika was slightly more ready. Her lips moved against Christine's, catching a choked sob as she cried.

Erika broke the kiss, her breathing rushed and her eyes reddened with the tears.

"Christine," her voice cracked.

She freed Meg, and told him to take Christine and go.

Christine, who could not move except to cry.

And she cried again as she turned to descend down the stairs, her heart breaking at Erika's hopeful look. The woman's eyes widened, and she stood quickly, straightening her rumpled suit to the best of her ability.

Then Christine held out the rings, and Erika told her she loved her.

Those three words, the quiet and broken tone in which they were spoken, would haunt Christine for the rest of her life.

 _Christine, I love you._


End file.
